Watching Henry Sutton wolf down his food, Grace Sutton suddenly lost her appetite for some reason. She put down her bowl, reached into her jacket pocket for her beloved Nokia phone, and tapped the touchscreen with her slender fingers. The black screen immediately lit up with a variety of colorful icons. However, the little wavy triangle in the upper right corner of the screen, which indicated signal strength, was still nowhere to be seen.

Henry Sutton swallowed a big mouthful of the tasty food and took a sip of soup. He looked at Grace Sutton with a sympathetic gaze and noticed: the girl's eyes were filled with confusion and helplessness, completely unlike the fearless, fierce, ruthless, and desperate figure who had fought her way out of the underground parking lot to survive. Perhaps, only now did her demeanor truly match her age.

Grace Sutton was not yet twenty years old. By the standards of this era, she was still a college student who hadn't graduated. However, in the blood-soaked, death-struggling world of the future, women her age were basically already mothers of three or four children, or even more.

He put down his chopsticks, extended his right hand, and very clearly pointed at the mobile phone in her hand, commanding in an irresistible tone, “Give it to me!”

Grace Sutton's reaction was noticeably slow. After hesitating for a moment, she still handed over her phone.

Henry Sutton took it, placed it in front of him, then pulled a Browning pistol from the holster at his side, skillfully flipped it in his palm, gripped the body, pointed the handle at the girl, and handed it straight to her.

“This is a world you could never have imagined, a world so cruel it can't be described in any language. Don't ask me why things outside have become like this. Don't ask me when the disaster and nightmare will end. I don't know the answer, just like you, and I can't find it. But we have to survive. Forget those most beautiful, yet most fragile things. Zombies and monsters have no sense of aesthetics. Black or white, it makes no difference to them. Beauties and old women are all just meat to fill their bellies in their eyes. This is a damned, filthy, despicable, and dark era. We may never be able to change anything, only adapt to an ever-worsening environment. Forget about phones and the police! There will be no rescue. Rather than living in emptiness and fantasy, it's better to kill a few more monsters. Remember—at any time, knives and guns are the best, and most trustworthy, companions.”

……

Night had fallen.

Henry Sutton carried an SA80 assault rifle loaded with bullets, patrolling every corner of the small building.

The entrance to the hall was already sealed. The bottom of the rolling shutter was firmly fixed with wire and steel nails, and the heavy sofa and standing cabinet formed a second barrier blocking the main door. Thick curtains with mosquito netting blocked out the light and also shielded everything inside from prying eyes outside.

Several steel pipes as thick as an arm braced the back door securely. On both sides of the corridor connecting to the hall, Henry Sutton had stacked modular cabinets moved from other rooms. They were piled at special angles, with the joints between the upper and lower cabinets left unlatched, and filled with useless files and waste paper. In an emergency, just remove the metal support wedged between the top cabinet and the wall, and these heavy things would collapse like building blocks, instantly filling the entire corridor.

As long as the power supply remained stable, the ramp connecting to the underground parking lot would stay unobstructed. The corpses of the dead and the remains of zombies had been cleared out, and it had now become a warehouse for food and various supplies. Using magnetic cards found on the dead staff, Henry Sutton stored most of the firearms in the vault. With its thick concrete walls and metal protection, it was very safe.

On the rooftop, a long and sturdy hemp rope had been installed. Unless absolutely necessary, Henry Sutton would never use this last escape route.

He chose Room 206 as the rest area. It was at the core of the entire building, allowing the fastest response to emergencies.

The fungal hormone collected during the day had already been placed in the vault. Under the bright lights, Henry Sutton focused intently on weighing the drugs with a balance, continuing to prepare high-concentration solutions.

Grace Sutton lived next door.

Outside the window, the faint chirping of crickets and katydids could be heard.

In the distance, zombies still occasionally howled as they wandered through the night.

……

Before dawn, Henry Sutton had already woken from his sleep. He opened his tired eyelids and glanced at the phone on the nightstand. The time displayed on the screen was 8:16.

The leftover rice and pickled mustard beans from yesterday had been mixed together and shaped into rice balls. Grace Sutton had made a lot of these. Besides breakfast, they could also serve as lunch.

She took a shower and changed into a gray tracksuit she had gotten from the mall. Her face was now free of dust and grime, and though she wore no makeup, her skin looked very fair.

Watching her put on her bulletproof vest and carefully load her pistol and bullets, Henry Sutton stuffed the remaining rice balls into his mouth, rubbed his hands, picked up a riot helmet with a face shield from the sofa, handed it to her, and said seriously, “Let's go! We still have a lot to do.”

The street was still empty. Following the route from yesterday, Henry Sutton drove the armored transport vehicle, stopping in front of various shops to load the supplies they needed to collect.